Twenty Questions
by miserella
Summary: Gale tries not to question why Panem is the way it is anymore, but when Madge Undersee ends up in the Seam one night, the questions are forced upon him-in a little game of twenty questions with the mayor's daughter.


I wasn't sure if I wanted to upload this to since it's relatively short, but it may become part of a collection of Gale/Madge one-shots. This was my first time writing them (and publishing it), so go easy on me. If you have any prompts, head over to my fic tumblr at **miserellawrites**. In the mean time, read on and let me know what you think!

* * *

It's never by choice that he sees the mayor's daughter everywhere (his eyes just _find_ her), but this is one place he never imagined she'd be.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender—his friend Wallace—asks the demure blonde with her fingers curled around the edge of the counter; her eyebrows furrow inwards in confusion before she replies, "Well, what's good?"

Gale speaks up then, spinning his own ice-cold bottle of ale in his hand. "Wallace," he warns, knowing that he could easily take advantage of her question and give her something too harsh for her inexperienced system.

Madge glances over at him in surprise, her long hair draped over her shoulder prettily. She looks much too sweet with her pink cheeks and even pinker lips for a place like this. "Wallace, I'll have what he's having," she instructs his friend, nodding at Gale's choice of beverage.

Gale rolls his eyes at the pleased smirk on her face and peels a bit of the label off his bottle. "Undersee, didn't you just graduate?"

She pauses, shaking her head for the bartender. "Well, I—"

Wallace couldn't care less if she's underage; in the Seam, it's not uncommon to start being served at 14. "'Undersee'? You aren't related to the mayor, are you?"

Madge firms her lips into a straight line and Gale can see how her shoulders tense beside him. He's pissed her off. This amuses him enough to laugh.

Her blue eyes narrow at him and Wallace has enough of an answer. "Sorry, little girl, but I can't serve you. You've gotta go."

"'Little girl'?" Madge repeats incredulously. "I'm eighteen. My father won't care, Wallace," she pleads like he's an old friend. Her eyelashes flutter over rounded eyes and Gale watches as Wallace's stony resolve crumbles. "Really, he won't. I'm a very good girl and—"

Gale grumbles at her manipulative words, too sure that Wallace will let him down for the first time ever.

"Okay, okay, you can stay," Wallace shakes his head. "One drink, and only if Hawthorne here gets you home all right." Two pairs of eyes slowly turn to land on him and he stares back at them blankly.

"You're kidding, right?" he sputters just as Madge exclaims, "Great! That's a promise. Thank you, Wallace."

When his (ex-)friend sets the same beer down in front of Madge as he has, Gale makes a noise that the blonde feels the need to question. "What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs one shoulder, taking a pull from his bottle. "Madge Undersee gets everything she wants. Not a surprise."

"Not everything. If I got whatever I wanted, you wouldn't be here right now."

Gale resists the urge to laugh and places a hand over his heart. "Ouch, Undersee. You got me."

"Whatever, Gale," she dismisses him, lifting the bottle to her lips hesitantly. He watches her take a sip, ignores how oddly satisfying it feels to see _that_girl drinking from the bottle in one of the Seam's scummiest joints. The way her face distorts as she swallows it down, however, is even more satisfying.

Madge licks her lips with an undetermined expression on her face and Gale can't help but comment. "Not your cup of tea, little girl?"

The townie ignores him, pulling her hair off the back of her neck—it's been a hot summer and she must be feeling the sticky heat of night as much as he is—and taking another sip, this time longer.

He scoffs. "Why are you here anyway?"

"Why do _you _ask so many questions?" She sighs as he takes a sip of his own drink, waiting for her answer. She holds the bottle up, looking over its features. "I wanted to try one of these. Father never has any in the house." She puts the bottle back down and looks away from him. "Now I see why."

He unabashedly laughs at that, and she turns her gaze towards him curiously. Gale guesses she either didn't mean it as a joke or that she can't believe he's laughing at it.

"You're a townie, Undersee. This is a cheap brew. Your genes weren't made for this stuff."

She tenses again, looking back at the beer in front of her. "It's not that bad. I'm just not used to it." Madge takes another sip and looks away from him. In the next moment his friend Thom greets him with a hand to his back and launches into an excited recount of something that happened to him earlier in town—Gale still isn't sure what by the end of the story. Half an hour later, Thom heads off to find Bristel and Gale turns back around to order himself another drink. It's then that he notices the blonde who had once occupied the seat to his left is gone, replaced by an older man with a long beard and unique odour.

No vanilla spice, that's for sure.

Gale does his best to spot her from his seat by craning his head over the other patrons but there's no such luck. Seeing as the Seam hotspot is more of a beer hall than an intimate bar, it becomes apparent that Gale will actually have to get out of his seat and wade through the drunken masses to find the mayor's daughter.

Of course, he doesn't have to do it. Madge isn't really his responsibility; she came here on her own and only agreed to Wallace's orders at the time because it meant she would get served. Right?

Gale surveys the room again and sighs irritably. The place is filled with grizzly miners and rough-and-tumble Seam residents—his friends and the people he grew up with, sure, but these aren't the type of people around whom Madge is used to being. They also aren't used to being around Madge, which could be its own problem.

Knowing Wallace will never serve him again if something happens to Madge and it gets back to the mayor, Gale tips what's left of his bottle down his throat and slams it back down before he starts making his way through the crowd.

He finally finds her on the other side of the room, surrounded by some of the guys he knows from the mines. No, if he left the innocent, young townie to Derrick, Grimsley, and Wolfe, he's sure he'd end up regretting it.

When he gets closer, he can see that Madge is nursing a drink different than her one from before and that Derrick is leaning over her lasciviously while Wolfe calls to the bar for "another one."

Madge, for all her white dresses and pink ribbons, looks like she's having the time of her life. She's sipping at some kind of fruity-white liquor concoction through a straw and otherwise laughing at Grimsley's bad jokes with her head tipped back.

Gale joins the group, crossing his large arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow at Madge. "Having a good time?"

She whirls around to face him and grins. "The best."

"Shouldn't you be getting home?" he asks, eyeing the men he works with. "To the mayor's house?"

Wolfe slides away at that point, but Derrick seems undeterred. "Gale Hawthorne. Thought you'd be at the slag heap on a night like this."

Madge looks away from them at this, eyes cast downward as she slurps at the remnants of her drink. Her manners are damn near impeccable and it makes him laugh to see her do something considered so impolite.

"That's funny, Derrick, because I thought you'd be with your wife instead of hitting on townies." With that, he gives him a hard look that not-so-subtly says, "Get out of here." And so he does, Madge gasping at his exit.

The last crony, Grimsley, is nothing to worry about on his own. He takes one look at Gale and clears his path, mumbling some praise and painfully sucking up to him. Gale ignores him entirely; his attention is focused fully on the blonde looking very put off by his ability to scare off her newfound friends.

Reaching a hand out to her, he says, "Let's go."

"You've ruined my night," she pouts. "I was enjoying myself, Gale."

His arm reaches farther to grab her by the elbow and pull her up from her seat—gently, because he doesn't want to cause a scene more than he has—and tugs her along through the crowd. "I haven't ruined anything, trust me."

She wrestles with his hold on her until they reach the door where she scoffs and tears herself from his grip. Outside, the air has cooled and he welcomes it in comparison to the the thick heat that swarmed him inside the bar. "Why on Earth should I trust you?" she mutters, looking back at the bar. It buzzes with life which is in stark contrast to the calmness surrounding them in the dark.

"Do you want me to take you home or not?"

"I _want_ to go back inside," she argues, pursing her lips.

Gale shakes his head out of frustration. "Why? Madge, do you know who those guys were? Or what you were drinking? Do you really wanna know what goes on in the Seam at night? Because if I left you with those guys, you'd find out. And you wouldn't like it."

Madge narrows her eyes. Even in the darkness he can pick out the blue of her eyes and the redness of her cheeks. He can see how her hair has curled just slightly as a result of the humidity and if she sits there too long staring at him just like that, he doesn't notice. He's too caught up in_ her._

"What's your middle name?" she asks, finally.

Needless to say, the question confuses him. "I—what?"

Madge crosses her arms now, shrugging once she does. She looks much too proud of herself. "If you wanted to play 20 Questions, you just had to ask."

"What are you talking about?"

"All you've done is demand answers. So what's your middle name? It's my turn." She genuinely looks like she's waiting for him to reply with an honest answer. He doesn't know what to do other than give her one.

"I don't have one. Parents thought they're unnecessary," he rolls a shoulder. People from the Seam were never the type to indulge in anything excess. "Madge, what's the point of this?"

He gets his answer when she takes a few steps into the darkness in the direction of her home. "Is that your question?" she asks, eyes twinkling. She's infuriating.

But his next steps still lead him to her side. "Are we really going to do this right now?"

Madge laughs and takes a couple more steps forward. "Yes. Okay, my turn." She thinks it over in her head then asks, "Do you like working in the mines?"

Gale sighs; she's serious about this. Running a hand through the dark, choppy hair at the back of his head, he figures that as long as the questions are harmless, he'll indulge her if it gets her home. "It's a job. It pays." She doesn't say anything, so he adds, "Maybe I feel a little closer to my dad when I'm down there. I don't know. Next question."

He tries not to look at her, but the way her gaze lands on him makes it feel too strange not to sneak a peek back; her smile is too sweet, too big, not to resist one of his own. "No, you get to ask one now," she explains.

"Oh," he says dumbly. "Uh. Is Katniss your best friend?"

They walk a steady pace now as the game seems to be in full motion and there's no need for them to start and stop. He's not sure what makes a good question, and God, he doesn't even know what to ask Madge. He doesn't feel the need to know the minute details of anyone's life, let alone Madge Undersee's. So he sticks with what he knows: the only thing they share in common is Katniss, so he thinks it's a good place to start.

"She's the only friend I have," Madge shrugs noncommittally. "I don't think I need to ask if Katniss is _your_ best friend."

He doesn't really have anything to say. Madge is right; it's general knowledge that him and Katniss are close.

"_Oh._ Do you _like_ Katniss?" Madge asks curiously, with way too much interest.

He scoffs, glancing away from her. "Pass."

"You can't _pass_!" she gasps like he's committed a huge offense. She stops in her tracks and gives him a pointed look. "The whole point of the game is—"

"Okay, okay," he says, to move her along. Shaking his head, he replies, "Katniss and I don't work like that. Besides, she's got Peeta. So no, I don't like Katniss. Happy now?"

"That's… Fine," she nods once, walking along beside him again. "Okay, you go."

He must think it over for a while because she gets impatient and starts prompting a response from him. "What made you think coming to the Seam on a Saturday night was a good idea?"

It's teasing but she frowns. "How could there be a problem with it? I was curious… And I wanted to have some fun."

He eyes her from the side, unconvinced. "Madge, come on. You know better than that."

She sticks her nose up in the air, looks wondrously at the stars for a moment. "I don't see why there has to be a problem with it. We're all the same, when it comes down to it." She turns her head to look at him and he notes the fierce belief in her claims in her eyes. "Do you really think we're that different, you and I?"

Gale looks down at his shoes, where his feet tread the path to town. "We are. I'm walking you back to town and then I'll return to the Seam. You with your yellow hair and blue eyes, me… we _are_ that different."

"Not enough not to share a game of 20 Questions in between what divides us," she remarks smartly. "It doesn't have to be that way."

"Whatever, Undersee. You tell that to your father, the mayor, when I drop you off at your big white house in the centre of town. Maybe next time you decide to traipse back into our neck of the woods looking for _fun_ you can stop by my old shack, and if I'm not working in the mines, you can tell me what he says."

With that, they round the corner that lands upon the town square and he knows it's not too far until her house. His words slam into them both, effectively destroying the peacefulness of their walk and shutting her up. When she'd said earlier that he ruined her night, he didn't think that it would be true.

But he doesn't have it in him to gather an apology and she still walks beside him, so he mimics her uncomfortable silence. That is, until she softly says, "Were you always this mean?"

He sighs. "No. Look, I shouldn't have—"

"Is it me?" He's never heard her—_anyone_—sound so vulnerable. "Do you hate me, Gale?"

She comes to a slow stop in the middle of the square and nervously turns back to him. She plays her lean fingers against the length of her arm like she's deftly pressing piano keys. He keeps quiet, as if he can hear the notes, before clearing his throat. "Are we still playing the game?"

Madge chuckles, though there's no joy in it. Her arms are still crossed in front of her and she lifts her eyebrows. "Depends."

Her eyes rise to meet his and this moment feels a lot heavier than the one before it. It's also the first time he sees that her eyes are slightly glazed over and he remembers that she's had alcohol running through her this whole time. He takes a second, then slowly moves his head right to left and back again. "I don't hate you."

It's true. Madge is but a thorn in his side from time to time; the only people he truly hates reside in the Capitol, and even if the mayor is their representative here in District 12, he knows Madge's father isn't really a bad man. Just because she has _more_ than he ever will isn't enough reason to hate someone. He hates the system that made it that way.

Madge nods her head lightly, accepting his answer as much as she can. He's sure she's thinking something about how it doesn't seem like it, but she keeps whatever thoughts of hers to herself.

"Do you like me?" She gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. Her eyes are wide. So are his, honestly. "I'm… It's your turn."

Slip of an inebriated tongue, he'd bet. Gale wishes he could ignore it.

"Madge…"

"Ask me about my pretty dress. Or my father. Ask me something you already assume about me," she says quietly.

He shakes his head. "Let's get you home."

His arm reaches out to her, but she walks ahead without him. His longer strides catch up to her pretty quickly and from his view he can tell that she's embarrassed. It makes him feel like an ass, and he's not sure where that came from—he used to get great pleasure out of making Madge Undersee feel inferior.

When they get to her gate, she unlocks it with clumsy hands and starts to open it without looking back at him. He comes up close behind her and lays a hand on the gate, on top of hers, to stop her movements. "You want an honest answer?"

Gale's close enough that his whisper can reach her, close enough to smell the scented shampoo that girls of the Seam are rarely lucky enough to have (and it's never as nice as hers; it's never vanilla spice).

He leans a little closer as she tilts her head just so in order to see him, responding to his proximity. It's a moment unlike any other they've shared. It feels so foreign (thrilling, nerve-wracking) that he can't understand how it also feels so natural. His next words make even less sense to him. "I like you enough not to do anything about it." He thinks maybe the quieter he says it, the less real it will seem to her in the morning.

But it is real, and it is honest.

Madge Undersee is infuriating and frustrating like no one else. But that's just it: she's like no one else and that alone irritates him. No one makes him feel the way she does and he can't explain it. He can't afford to try and explain it, either. As long as she's from Town and he's from the Seam, what sense is there in trying? She's the mayor's daughter and he's a miner with a family to support. There's no sense, no sense at all.

Pulling away from her, he breathes a "Goodnight, Madge," into the air before he's gone, back to the Seam, back to his fate, and before Madge can question it.


End file.
